


Last One Standing

by tjstar



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Festivals, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Hiatus, Save Rock and Roll Era, Summer, heatstroke, kinda sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Onstage Patrick feels like dying, but some people in the mosh-pit are suffering even more than the band. ‘Just twelve songs,’ Patrick tells to himself as they start to play the intro of ‘Thriller’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last One Standing

Patrick lies on the floor of the dressing room, still a little dizzy, trying to remember how he could let this happen. He’s supposed to be at the soundcheck with the band right now, but his crazy body has another plans. Patrick’s pretty sure he’s overheated, because it’s almost the middle of August, and it’s Tokyo, and this climate is killing him. Maybe FOB shouldn’t play the set today, but Patrick hopes he’ll be better soon. It’s not about his mythical narcissism (Patrick hasn’t it), but faints and other _embarrassing_ things onstage are not cool. His brain burns, and his lungs can’t work properly, and he really wants to pour a bucket of cold water on his head. Patrick manages to get up off the floor before Andy enters the room; Patrick pretends he’s okay despite a throbbing pain in his temples. Fucking weather.

“Ready for an interview?” Andy asks, looking at his friend anxiously. “Joe and Pete are waiting for you.”

Shit. Actually, Patrick likes festivals, but there are always a lot of journalists, and it means there'll be a lot of awkward conversations.

“Yeah,” Patrick nods with a fake smile. He knows he can’t trick drummer’s intuition.

He tries not to stumble when he goes out of the door.

 

***

It’s even hotter in the street; everything is shrouded in a haze, and leaves are hanging down from the branches of trees like pieces of melted cheese. It looks like Salvador Dali paintings.

On the stupidest interview ever, Patrick says _“We’re fine, but it’s really hot here”_  , and Pete jokes _“Patrick’s very tiny, we can just shove him into an ice bucket”_. Joe mumbles something about the fire in his hair, and ‘he’s feeling like he’s that Hades from Disney cartoon’, and Andy discusses about going onstage half-naked.

Oh no. That’s something that will never happen even if a temperature will be over 1000 degrees; Patrick’s sweating, but he’s wearing a black t-shirt with Summer Sonic logo and his fedora just because he doesn’t want to scare anyone with his _still_ non-perfect appearance. _All the fans think this way_. But honestly, he doesn’t much care about his body; Patrick isn’t a fucking American top-model who wants to fit to the standards.

He just wants to drink some cold water. He’s _ready_ to play a good show.

But…

Onstage Patrick feels like dying, but some people in the mosh-pit are suffering even more than the band. _‘Just twelve songs,’_ Patrick tells to himself as they start to play the intro of ‘Thriller’.

He’s sleepy and he can’t focus on the song.

_“Last summer we took threes across the board”_

Last summer he didn’t have a heatstroke.

Patrick moves a lot as he sings, ignoring the fact his throat is painfully dry, and it’s something wrong with his vocal cords. He looks around the stage and catches Pete’s worried glance; Patrick gives him a little smile and notices that Joe looks like a spaniel because of his headbanging. Andy’s shirtless; fuck, he’s the happiest /hottest/ man ever.

Patrick’s body complains about the lack of air.

During the third or fourth song, Patrick curses his poor eyesight, because he’s not wearing his regular glasses, and he can see pretty _nothing_ through his sunglasses. Patrick has a terrible allergy to any contact lenses, so he can’t use them all the time, and suddenly he finds himself half-blind. Patrick removes the sunglasses, but everything is swaying, and it kinda reminds him of a roller-coasters.

Patrick hates roller-coasters. His breakfast goes up to his throat; it’s a miracle, but he swallows it back to his stomach. _‘They shouldn't know anything. You're fine.’_

A pounding headache explodes behind his eyes.

“DANCE DANCE MOTHERFUCKERS!!” Patrick hears Pete’s screaming, and he sees Joe at the periphery, and he can even feel the waves of energy coming from Andy’s drum kit. It hits Patrick’s brain, but he survives singing this song.

More than a half of the set is done.

_“Gonna need a spark to ignite”_

God, are there any songs not about the sparks-flames-warmth?! His lungs are burning.

Patrick isn’t sure if he’s still sweating; it feels more like his skin is dry despite the heat. _‘Two songs, two songs,’_ he braces himself, trying not to fail ‘Thnks Fr Th Mmrs’.

He literally counts minutes before the end of their part of the show.

_“Been looking forward to the future, but my eyesight is going bad”_

_‘Oh no it can’t be worse’_ , Patrick thinks as the ringing in his ears drowns out the music completely; at the morning he heard that ringing too and then suddenly woke up lying on the floor. _‘I don’t like it,’_ he realizes, not bothering about how childish his thoughts are.

Reality crumbles like a mosaic.

Patrick manages to sing a few more lines before a dense black curtain covers his vision.

 

***

“Do you wanna give him fucking pneumonia?!” familiar voice #1 yells hysterically.

“I'll shove him into the ice bath, if it's necessary!” familiar voice #2 responds with the same intonation.

After this oh-so-emotional dialogue, extremely cold water splashes onto Patrick’s face; subconsciously, he knows that he can expect anything from his bandmates, but he almost chokes.

“How are you?” familiar voice #3 asks.

Patrick opens his eyes, blinks a few times as the water blurs his vision, and finally he sees his friends, all of them are worried.

Patrick isn’t surprised.

“Tell me I got knocked out by the bottle,” Patrick pleads weakly, wiping his wet face with his wet fedora.

“The sun,” Joe says, shrugging.

Patrick realizes they’re backstage; after the cold shower it’s not that hot. He is safe now, and the security guards won’t let the paparazzi catch him.

“We… we need to finish the show,” Patrick replies as he sits up on the floor; Andy hands him a bottle of water.

Pete shakes his head (he holds an empty bucket in his hand).

“You’ve got a heatstroke. We are waiting for paramedics to check you out, but they’re so slow, why the hell?” he throws a bucket on the floor angrily; it falls with an unpleasant sound. Festival’s organization sucks.

Patrick’s sure he was unconscious just a few minutes. The techs didn’t touch band’s instruments so they’re still on the stage.

“One song, Pete. It’s _Saturday,”_ Patrick argues and forces himself to get up even without any help. Adrenaline rushes through him, and his energy will be enough for one more song. Pete groans, he knows it can be dangerous, but Joe nods in agreement, and Andy just lets out a sigh of despair.

Patrick drinks the water and wants to stop feeling himself useless.

 

***

For Patrick, it’s harder to go onstage after the incident. Despite the good reaction of the crowd, panic attacks him. _‘Pete is wearing more clothes than you.’_ Patrick’s afraid of a possible relapse, and his sun-burned nose is sore like it’s gonna be bleeding.

Patrick lifts his battered hat in greeting.

“I’m not as strong as I thought, but I’m not as weak as you think,” Patrick says into microphone. “Saturday!”

Maybe, Phoenix feels the same when it rises from the ashes.

They’re pulling together, and they’re playing the most important /romantic/ song in FOB setlist, and it sounds pretty good.

_‘I read about the afterlife’_

But the struggle with a heat never ends well.

After finishing the song, Patrick runs away from the stage, pressing both hands to his nose as the red liquid trickles through his fingers. He heads to the small bathroom that looks more like a closet than like a normal room.

Patrick wants to hide from his bandmates, from himself, from the world… He’s ashamed.

“Hey?” someone’s calling.

Patrick turns to the voice.

Pete, of course. He opens the bathroom door, and Patrick goes inside, still covering his nose and mouth with his palms.

“Let me see it,” Pete says, frowning his eyebrows.

Patrick stares at the sink, avoiding Pete’s eyes.

“I can handle it,” Patrick mutters, removing his hands off his face without confidence. He’s dizzy again.

“Oh yeah,” Pete sighs. “You need a help. Just don’t look at the blood, okay?” Pete almost orders, holding the towel under cold water.

Patrick nods slowly and sits down on the bathroom floor; he closes his eyes and throws his head back, sniffing.

“Why am I such a loser?” he asks as he feels the touch of a wet fabric against his nose.

“Best loser ever,” Pete smirks, wiping the blood. “You’re just tired and overheated.”

They’re not going to go to the hospital, but Patrick is sure that paramedics are chasing him already. His nose isn’t bleeding anymore, but he keeps pressing red-stained towel automatically.

“It always happens to _me_ ,” Patrick grumbles.

Pete listens to his friend’s blues, sitting next to him. Well, it could be worse. He doesn’t know what to do, and he kisses Patrick on his cheek; it’s impossible to kiss Patrick’s lips while the towel covers his nose and mouth. Pete wonders how Patrick can breathe through it.

“Are you okay?” Pete asks, smiling softly and nuzzling into Patrick’s neck.

“I was waiting for it, really,” Patrick answers, laughing. Pete wants to say that Patrick is literally _hot_ today, but he bites his tongue. They are planning to get to the tour-bus without being caught by paramedics or paparazzi. Pete and Patrick have something to hide from the press.

Maybe there’s a crazy weather in Tokyo, maybe both of them are overheated, or maybe their friendship grows into something bigger.

Who knows?

**Author's Note:**

> i dont speak english so sorry for my grammar errors and strange things  
> \----  
> i don't know anything about the weather in Tokyo but i just was inspired by some video from summer sonic 2013 and this is my alternate story


End file.
